The shimmering wall of the Border towered above Alice’s prison cell, its surface rippling like liquid glass, reaching into the sky as far as she could see. She’d spent almost twenty days here, sleeping in the dirt, forced to piss and shit in a bucket by those stupid-looking bunny people. They called themselves Jackalopes? Alice laughed to herself, though the sound was hollow. She might only be twelve, but she knew Jackalopes didn’t actually exist.

  Yet, as the days passed, it grew harder and harder to ignore the facts of her surroundings. It all started when that stupid boy had taken her away from her parents.

  “The Root has provided you an opportunity!” he’d said, his voice dripping with false cheer. “The Cracked Kingdoms welcomes its newest Peasants, if you have the strength to survive.”

  Her parents had told her to be careful around boys. Boys always want something, they’d said. Boys are mean and play rough, Boys are always fighting and doing drugs. Was that what this was? Was that boy on drugs? It didn’t matter. Alice didn’t want to hang out with boys anyway. They smelled. They never wanted to do what she wanted to do, and when they did, they got all angry and stuff. It wasn’t her fault they were so bad at playing.

  But as time passed, it had grown harder and harder to ignore the bunny people. Harder to ignore the little voice in her head that whispered her parents weren’t coming to get her. She’d just wanted to look at the stars.

  Why did I have to go look at the stars?

  At least she wasn’t completely alone. That loud voice in her head—Bev—had kept her company. Even though Bev talked weirdly, she was nice. She’d made it so Alice wasn’t so hungry or tired anymore. The bunny people hadn’t given her enough food, but Bev had fixed that. All Alice had to do was pick a silly little name.

  [Welcome Queen Chesire to the Cracked Kingdoms! Strive for Greatness, and Greatness will Find You]

  She liked it when Bev called her Queen. It made her happy. It also made her a little sad. She missed her kitty, Cheshire. She hoped she was ok.

  But today, she was just angry. Her once-pretty pink sneakers were now caked with mud. No matter how hard she screamed, the bunny people wouldn’t give her anything to clean them. It really was quite rude of them.

  “Hello, Alice. I hope today is going better than yesterday,” a calm, melodic voice said.

  Alice didn’t look up. “Go away, Pointy Ears. I don’t wanna do any training today.”

  Standing outside her wooden prison was an elven man, his presence almost ethereal. His skin was smooth and luminous, like porcelain, and his hair cascaded like silken strands of moonlight, tinged with streaks of the soft cerulean. His face was framed with sharp yet delicate features, and his long, dagger-like ears twitched slightly as he spoke. Alice might have found him beautiful if not for his long fingernails and gross, sharp teeth. Oh, and he was a creep, like all the other boys she’d met.

  With a nod, the jackalope barbarian guarding Alice’s cell scoffed and walked off, leaving her alone with the emerald-clad elf.

  “I have asked you to not call me that, young one,” the elf said softly. “As you know, my name is Nabu. Nabu Enraba. After all I have taught you these last weeks, could you not do me this one favor?”

  Alice scoffed. Yeah, Pointy Ears had been nice to her. He’d taught her how to use those silly Attribute Points to make herself stronger and use her prison cell—or, as he called it, the Nexus—to get new clothes. She didn’t know why he insisted on calling it a Nexus. She was old enough to know what a prison cell was.

  But that didn’t change how hard he made her work. Making her walk and run around the little dirt patch. Making her build little walls out of rocks and then pushing them over just to make her build them again. Even worse, he’d recently started to force her to…read. Reading was the worst. She could see the bunny people entering the woods, playing with their big, weird dogs. They even danced around big fires at night. She wanted to dance around a fire.

  “No, you’re Pointy Ears until you let me out of his prison,” Alice said, turning her back to Nabu and crossing her arms. “And no, I won’t read your stupid book today.”

  She could hear the elf sigh, his footsteps soft as he approached her. “I am sorry, Alice. Truly, I am. I tried to speak to these barbarians about letting you out, but their Warchief is quite… obstinate.” He paused, a flash of concern crossing his delicate features.

  “Alice, you must be ready for the Convergence, this tribe has built their camp right upon the Border. They do not listen to me when I implore them to move further into the forest. They speak of this creature who stalks the shadows, a Whisper of—”

  Nabu was cut off as a cacophony of voices rose in the distance. Alice watched as he turned, his long robes flowing as if by an invisible wind. One of the bunny people pushed through the crowd, his fur matted with blood and his body riddled with bite marks.

  “Warchief! Warchief!” he cried, his voice trembling with fear.

  From a steepled tent stepped Alice’s arch-nemesis: the Bunny-Lady.

  “Bunny-lady,” Alice muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with vitriol.

  The Bunny-Lady’s voice was sharp as she addressed the injured jackalope. “Slate, you bastard! Do you think I wouldn’t notice you and Flint running off into the Ancestral Valley?!”

  Slate fell to his knees in front of her, his body trembling. “I dishonor myself, Warchief. I believed our strength would be accepted by the Burned Queen.” He collapsed, prostrating himself in the dirt. “I was wrong.”

  The ‘Bunny-Lady’ knelt, placing a calming hand on Slate’s back. Alice had seen that look before—it was the same look her mother had when she did something wrong.

  “Where is Flint?,” the Warchief asked softly.

  Alice heard a sob from the furry form. “It was the Whisper. We thought we…He will come for us now.”

  Rage flashed across the Bunny-Lady’s face as an axe of pure wind materialized in her hand. With a practiced motion, she stood, swinging her tomahawk down toward Slate.

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  “Pull all our Hunters back!” she barked. “Those beasts across the river will have to wait.”

  The camp erupted into chaos. Jackalopes donned their leather armor, skillfully crafted from the pelts of their fallen pets, their movements swift and purposeful. The air was thick with tension, the scent of blood and fear mingling with the earthy smell of the forest.

  Alice could only watch as a pool of crimson spread out from Slate’s decapitated body, her stomach churning.

  —

  [31:15:31]

  Buck’s lungs burned as he crashed through the underbrush, branches whipping at his face. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move faster. The image of William’s flickering form haunted him—that jagged wound across his ghostly abdomen, the way his spectral blood had pooled on the ground like liquid moonlight.

  What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t have done anything while that damn jackalope was peppering them with flaming axes. But as Buck skidded to his knees beside his friend, the damp earth leaving his bare knees covered in dew, he couldn’t stop his heart from catching in his chest.

  William was still in the exact spot he had left him, his ghostly form flickering as whatever life force that sustained him began to fail. Up close, Buck could see the damage was worse than he’d thought. The tomahawk had severed something fundamental in William’s very essence, leaving ragged edges where his ghostly flesh tried and failed to knit itself back together.

  “Talk to me, Billy,” Buck whispered, his voice rough. His hands hovered uselessly over the wound. His fingers trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the cold realization that for all his newfound strength, he might still lose this fight. For the first time since the Integration, he felt truly helpless.

  Evander’s tiny claws clicked against the stone as he approached. “The spirit clings to existence, but barely,” the hamster said, his usual arrogance tempered by something unfamiliar—concern. “The weapon carried elemental enhancements. These are no mere beasts. They understand the nature of spirits.”

  Buck could feel it. The level of Source within his friend was trickling out of him, leaving him but an empty husk. He’d spent so little time in the Cracked Kingdoms, but he knew William’s case, like his own, was special. A spirit could not exist without a body. The thought of William just…ceasing to exist made his stomach twist.

  A memory flashed—William’s booming laugh as he’d presented Buck with the coyote-pelt bedroll. The way his ghostly eyes crinkled when he told stories about the old west. That stubborn optimism kept them both going through the madness of this world.

  Buck’s fist clenched. “There has to be something.”

  Evander’s whiskers twitched. “We tread upon unexplored ground. True resurrection is a power that only the Root holds. He does not have the strength to survive a wound of this magnitude. Were we further along, perhaps I could have created a health potion tailored for the undead. But right now…”

  “If he was stronger,” Buck interrupted, a dangerous idea forming. His gaze dropped to his hands, where The Gray still coiled beneath his skin. The same power that had drained Flint’s life force now called to him with a new possibility.

  Since receiving his Attunement, Buck had been at a loss for what it truly was. With the others, it had been more straightforward. A Shadow Attunement would mutate your body to be able to become one with the shadows, most likely evolving your abilities so that you could meld with the night itself. The Destruction Attunement would have increased his abilities to staggering heights, adding devastating power that would flow through him.

  While Unique, The Gray was a nebulous idea. It had no direct connection to Buck’s life pre-integration. The churning ocean of Gray, ever present within him, was reminiscent of the misty fog that had rolled onto the shores of his grandparent’s house. A mist that was so thick it erased the outlines of distant trees and cliffs, creating a veil that blurred the line between land and sea.

  But within Buck, it moved as if it was the ocean itself. Liquid energy that cascades and swells, curling around his bones and organs. Like a slow-moving tide, it enveloped everything in its path, altering the familiar contours of his body into something soft and dreamlike. But what was it? Was it good or evil? Apparently, it was a step onto the Path of Death, but as Evander said, Death was not inherently evil. Death had a purpose to fulfill. That concept was written upon the very fabric of life itself. A concept couldn’t be evil. Could it?

  Without hesitation, Buck plunged his hands into William’s chest. The moment his mist-wreathed fingers made contact, the Gray surged forward like a starved beast. He felt it latch onto William’s waning energy, eager to consume what little remained.

  “No!” Buck growled through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he wrestled with the ravenous power. His muscles trembled with the effort, veins standing out along his arms. “You don’t get to take him.”

  The Gray resisted, its hunger overwhelming. Buck’s vision swam as he poured every ounce of his will into the struggle. Just when he thought he might pass out from the strain, a memory surfaced—the description of his Attunement.

  “With whispers cold that bind and break,” Buck gasped.

  As the words left his lips, something shifted. The Gray’s nature inverted, becoming a conduit rather than a predator. Buck’s breath hitched as his own Attributes began flowing into William—not just stolen energy from Flint, but his very essence.

  The sensation was like having his bones hollowed out. His Strength evaporated first, leaving his limbs leaden. Then his Dexterity, his Endurance, even his hard-won Charisma—all draining away in a relentless torrent. The world dimmed at the edges, sounds becoming muffled as if heard through water.

  Through the haze, Buck saw William’s form brighten. The ghastly wound began stitching itself together, threads of mist weaving through the damaged flesh. Color returned to the ghost’s cheeks, his outline solidifying.

  “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop!” Evander’s voice sounded distant. “His form stabilizes!”

  Buck could only nod weakly. His body screamed in protest, muscles trembling as they struggled to keep him upright. Each passing second carved deeper into his reserves until he hovered on the brink of collapse.

  But like every good parasite, The Gray would not let its host die. Buck felt the passing of energy stop. If Buck had to guess, each of his Attributes would be at 1. Every last one passing into the dying William in front of him, but Buck couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. William needed every point of Endurance Buck had gathered to assist in the healing process.

  Hours passed in agonizing increments. The sun dipped below the trees, casting long shadows across the clearing. Still, Buck held on, his arms locked in place by sheer stubbornness. He’d lost feeling in his fingers long ago.

  Somewhere in the fog of pain, Buck registered movement. Evander had taken command of the remaining [Zombie Rats], sending them scurrying to douse the forest fires. The acrid smell of smoke mixed with the metallic tang of blood in Buck’s mouth—he’d bitten through his lip at some point. He’d have laughed at the sight, the rats carrying buckets of water with their long tails, if not for his vision continuing to blur.

  Finally, as the first stars appeared, William’s eyes fluttered open. “Young pup?” His voice was weak but unmistakable. “What in tarnation are you doin’ lookin’ so pale?”

  Buck tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. The moment he released his hold, the Gray snapped back into him like a rubber band. The returning surge of energy knocked him flat on his back, gasping like a drowning man breaking the surface.

  Above him, the night sky spun widely. Buck distantly registered Evander’s tiny paws pressing a [Basic Healing Potion] to his lips, the disgusting bile causing him to cough and sputter. William’s translucent face hovered into view, etched with concern.

  “You damn fool,” the ghost whispered, but there was no heat in it. His hand, solid once more, clasped Buck’s shoulder.

  As consciousness slipped away, Buck’s final thought was of the battle with Flint. Even in his final moments, he hadn’t summoned that stone axe. Whoever had been helping Flint was still out there. And they would be coming back.

  —

  The Gray slithered through Buck’s unconscious mind like smoke under a door, its whispers curling around his dreams—” Hunger. I am so…hungry. You gave life today…but I am…I always collect.” This mist coiled tighter around his sleeping form, leaching warmth from his skin as it feasted on the dregs of his exhaustion. Death…is a patient hunter.